The story I want to write is as much for me as it is for you. Before you get to read it, I read it first. And before you were entertained, I was entertained.
This is for those of us who despite how we feel find it impossible to stop writing. The story lives in us. We live to tell our stories.
If my parents found out about me being in love with a teacher, how worried would they get?
Flipping the scenario, if a female student was crushing hard, or in love with a male teacher, how worried should her parents get?
First things first, who misplaced the X? Why should I be looking for something I do not know how it got missing? And why does X keep getting missing?
Is the teacher that careless? Or are they just being mischievous?
The problem with experience though? It often held us back. We remember things from our past, we see patterns playing out before us, and we have to react.
From that day on, Ruth had it on for him. Whenever a teacher asked her to write down the name of noisemakers, his name was number one on the list. If she was asked to pick students for menial work like cutting grass or washing the toilet, she picked him first.